


Tuxes and Cummerbunds

by redpenny



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (without the daddy part... though maybe if you squint?), Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Chubby Derek Hale, Chubby Kink, Established Relationship, Fat Shaming, Graduate Student Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Sugar Daddy Derek Hale, Teasing, Teasing that may come across as Fat Shaming, Weight Gain, assholes in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25177336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpenny/pseuds/redpenny
Summary: With the happy assurance of a man who is about to win a bet, Stiles says, "Told you it would be too tight."He pokes his Alpha in the tummy. The tummy that said Alpha is trying, with significant effort, to button his pants around.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 9
Kudos: 191





	Tuxes and Cummerbunds

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is entirely unrelated to my [Neighborly series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1548832), but it's also a spiritual companion piece. Derek got to tease Stiles for his weight for 30k there, and now Stiles gets 3k of revenge.
> 
> Please beware that the dynamic here isn't quite the same -- here, it's more sassy/asshole Stiles and grumpy/exasperated Derek, so the teasing gets closer to fat shaming. I think (hope) it's still body-positive overall, but I don't want to under-warn for this, so **if fat shaming is a trigger for you, take care of yourself -- you might want to skip this one**.

It's Sunday morning. It's one of the rare days Derek isn't working, and, when Stiles walks into the bedroom, a grin spreads across his face at the sight of him.

With the happy assurance of a man who is about to win a bet, he says, "Told you it would be too tight."

He pokes his Alpha in the tummy. The tummy that said Alpha is trying, with significant effort, to button his pants around.

Derek scowls and pushes Stiles away.

"You know, we could just call the bet now," Stiles offers, because he's a generous man. "No need to draw it out til Cora's wedding."

"Shut up, Stiles." With a huff, Derek gets the pants buttoned. "You're not going to win the bet."

Stiles hums thoughtfully. "I didn't know you were going to try your tux on so early. But good thinking. You'll have plenty of time to get a new one now."

"I don't need a new tux." Derek glances in the mirror, and then sucks in his tummy a little more. 

He actually manages to hold his belly in enough to be almost flat, if still thick. Stiles suspects he's hiding some rather impressive abs under there.

"I guess you could just have Albert take it out?" he suggests. "It's not that old."

It's been three years, but Stiles still can't believe that his poor, starving Omega grad student ass managed to land one of the Alpha heirs to the Hale Corporation. He's getting used to the expensive suits and fancy dates and vintage cars that Derek won't give him the keys to. But the fact that Derek has a personal tailor named _Albert_ is still the best thing ever.

"It fits," Derek argues, and reaches for the jacket.

"I'm just saying—"

"Shut up, Stiles."

Stiles mimes zipping up his lips, and watches Derek try to fit the jacket over his shoulders.

Derek might be skipping some gym dates these days, but his shoulders and arms are still bulky with muscle, so it's a tight squeeze. But he manages to get it on. And then even manages to get the top button done.

"I told you." Derek straightens up. "You're going to lose the bet."

"You've still got another button to go," Stiles reminds him.

"You're not supposed to button the second one."

Stiles gives him a suspicious look.

Derek sighs. "Look it up."

"Don't think I won't."

Stiles steps around Derek, examining the fit. 

Thanks to Albert, the suits Derek wears to work are better fitting than this. But the tux is actually pretty flattering, at least from this angle. Derek's extra weight just adds to the breadth of his shoulders, and the flaps of the jacket hide his love handles. And maybe a few of the seams are taking some strain, but not enough to burst open.

Stiles lifts the back of the jacket to get a peek at the seat of the pants stretched right over Derek's round butt. He gives it a pinch.

"Stiles."

"Sorry," Stiles says, unrepentant.

As he continues his 360-degree evaluation, he has to admit that the jacket isn't unflattering over Derek's chest, either. It hides the softness of his pecs, and makes them look well-defined, instead.

And the top button of the jacket actually looks pretty secure. But below it, with the unbuttoned lower button, the sides of the jacket spread out, and it's obvious the tux was tailored for a man with a little less tummy. And, even though Derek's still sucking in, the white shirt underneath pulls around the shadow of his belly button.

Stiles tilts his head. "Okay, I admit that it _sort of_ fits."

"I told you."

"Don't celebrate yet," Stiles tells him. "You're still sucking your tummy in."

Derek gives him a grumpy look, but concedes and lets his midsection round back out to its usual dimensions.

The jacket button quickly shows some real strain, and the slope of Derek's belly pushes it up towards his chest.

His shirt pulls more and more as Derek relaxes, and then bare belly peeks out between the buttons.

"See?" Derek straightens up. "It fits fine."

Stiles opens his mouth to contest his definition of 'fine', but then a lot more bare belly is suddenly revealed, along with a light dusting of hair.

Stiles laughs and gives his belly fat a poke. "Dude, your button gave up." 

"What?" Derek frowns as he looks down to where the button slipped out of its hole. The still-intact buttons on either side are starting to show enough extra strain that he looks like he might be in danger of losing at least one of them.

Derek frowns as he fumbles over his belly, searching for where his shirt's gaping, and Stiles suddenly realizes that's because he can't actually _see_ it. The fattest part of his belly is actually too fat to see over.

And, oh, wow. Stiles mostly just likes to tease his Alpha whenever he gets a bit chunky. But Derek might actually be getting legitimately _heavy_ this time.

He stares as Derek turns to the mirror. He sucks in to tuck the button back into place, and then lets his belly relax more slowly this time.

The button slips back out again.

They both look at Derek's reflection.

"Um, so you ready to concede the bet?"

Derek sets his jaw stubbornly. "The bet was that I could wear this to Cora's wedding. That's not for another month. It'll fit by then."

Stiles gives his belly a placating pat. "Sure it will."

Derek is, nominally, trying to trim down a little.

When they met three years ago, he was working on getting back to his college weight. The next year, he was going to get back to the size he'd fit into when they met. Last year, he just wanted to get back down a little closer to 200 pounds.

And a few weeks ago, Stiles had caught him growling as he stepped off the bathroom scale. But even when Stiles batted his eyelashes and promised he wouldn't make fun, Derek wouldn't tell him what it said.

He just muttered something about needing to get in a little better shape before his sister's wedding. Which led to Stiles saying that, "You might want to think about getting a new tux, too."

And he'd mostly been teasing. Derek might've put on a few more pounds, but it hadn't been _that_ long ago that he'd needed a new tux for a charity gala. 

However, Derek's protests that the tux would still fit had led to Stiles doubling down that it wouldn't. 

In retrospect, the bet that followed was actually a sure win for Stiles, and Stiles should have negotiated for better terms than Derek just telling him what the scale said.

No matter how curious he might be.

One month later, Stiles watches Derek put the tux on again.

He watches him suck in his tummy to get the shirt buttoned. And then suck it in a little more to fasten the pants.

This past month, out of the spirit of sportsmanship for the bet — and Omegas supporting their Alphas when they need to lose a few pounds — Stiles hasn't been enabling Derek's tendency to eat like he's still a college athlete. And, even in the face of Derek's grumbles when he opens the freezer lately, he's honored his request not to keep it stocked with his favorite ice cream.

So if the tux doesn't look like it's fitting any better than it did a month ago, it's not Stiles's fault.

When Derek squeezes into the jacket again, it reminds Stiles of something.

"You know King Edward VII?" At Derek's blank look, he says, "King of England from 1901 through 1910? Well, anyways, he got too fat to button the second button on his suit. But no one wanted to make him feel bad, so they stopped buttoning theirs, too. And even though that was a hundred years ago, we still don't want to make anyone feel bad about their tummies—" Stiles glances at Derek's midsection "—so that's why no one buttons the second button to this day."

Derek sighs. "You know, you could have skipped the part where you compared me to a fat king, and just said, 'You're right, Derek, I'll stop doubting you'."

"I didn't doubt you," Stiles insists. "I just thought you were trying to cheat."

Derek rolls his eyes as he does up the top button of the jacket, and smoothes down the unbuttoned second one.

The sides of the jacket part around his middle, just like before. It's hard to tell if the tux is as tight as it was last month, with how he's still sucking in his tummy. But, from how it took him even longer to get his pants fastened this time, Stiles is confident in his win.

"Let your tummy out now," Stiles says.

"You don't have to say it like that," Derek grumbles, but complies, relaxing his muscles. More carefully than last time, it looks like. Not that it matters because the same button slips right out again.

"Dude, I won!" Stiles grins and fist-pumps. And then, at Derek's unimpressed look, lowers his arm. "I mean, um, condolences on your diet? Better luck next time?"

Derek heaves a deep sigh and opens his mouth to say something —

But whatever it was is interrupted by a pop. And then a clatter. And then his belly rounding out even further, as the newly buttonless fly of his pants spreads out to accommodate it.

Stiles bites his lip. "You do have something else to wear, right?"

It turns out Derek had visited Albert after all. And he'd actually tried to get this tux taken out, but Albert had said with the extra inches of his waistline — and Derek won't tell Stiles how many of _those_ there are, either — there wasn't enough spare fabric.

So Derek has a new tux, and it's one that comes with an actual real-life cummerbund. And Stiles has a lot of flustered thoughts about the way it fits over Derek's tummy.

Stiles, however, doesn't get a new tux. Despite his ever-lasting love for Pop-Tarts and pizza and curly fries — and the fun-size Snickers that get him through his heats — he's kept _his_ tight bod for _his_ Alpha and still fits into his old one.

The wedding is nice. And probably cost Derek's family the GDP of a small country. The bride is beautiful but a little scary, and Laura has some strong opinions on Stiles's still half-finished thesis, and Talia keeps showing up to fix Stiles's bowtie whenever the photographer's around. And that's just Derek's _immediate_ family. There's a whole extended family that Stiles has to try not to embarrass himself around, too.

Which is more than enough to keep Stiles busy, so he doesn't have time to keep getting distracted by Derek.

Except... he can't stop looking at him.

Confused feelings about the cummerbund aside, Derek's new tux is nice. It fits well. But it also can't hide that Derek has gotten _big_. _Really_ big.

Enough that Stiles feels kind of guilty for rooting for him to have outgrown his old tux.

It's not that Stiles would mind if Derek did get his weight down to where he wants, anyways. After all, the few times Derek's actually managed to take off a few pounds, he's looked good — belly a little closer to flat, muscles more defined, clothes emphasizing a fitter figure. And — while Stiles knows he's unlikely to ever see them outside of pictures from Derek's college athlete days — Stiles would totally be into the abs that he knows are hiding under the belly.

On the other hand, Derek gets so cutely pouty whenever his tummy starts getting too big for his clothes again. And then he gets cutely grumpy after someone — admittedly, usually Stiles — asks him — innocently! — how his diet's going. And then, he proceeds to take pointedly bigger portions than usual and go around defiantly shirtless. As if he thinks that's actually going to function as a deterrent for Stiles.

But the problem isn't that Derek's so fun to tease when he gains weight. It's that he's just so _heavy_ now.

And ever since Stiles started noticing it a month ago, he can't stop noticing. He notices every time Derek strips his shirt off to reveal that proud Alpha pot belly. He notices how heavy he feels when he's on top of him in bed. Or when there's noticeably more weight behind his thrusts. Or —

Or a lot of other things Stiles shouldn't be thinking about in public. Let alone when he's spending all day around Derek's extended family.

But Stiles can't help it. His brain is made to fixate. And Derek eating all those hors d'oeuvres at the reception doesn't help. Neither does the even more flustering fit of his cummerbund over a full belly.

That morning, Derek had claimed there wasn't enough time for Stiles to claim the spoils of his victory, because they were going to be late for the wedding.

And when they get back home that night, Derek refuses to step back on the scale on a full stomach.

He also refuses to fuck Stiles on a full stomach.

At least, unless Stiles does all the work.

Stiles pouts as he flops into bed next to him. "What kind of Alpha are you?"

"An Alpha who ate too much," Derek says. He's reclined on his back in bed, hand rubbing his stomach through his t-shirt.

"But I've been so good all day," Stiles whines.

"When have you ever been good?"

"I didn't even jump you once today," Stiles protests. "Not even at the reception."

Derek gives him an odd look.

Stiles reaches over and rucks Derek's shirt up so he can take a peek at his tummy. Derek is laying on his back, but it only emphasizes how far his stomach mounds up, round with fat and too much food.

It's usually Omegas who are known to get soft, but when Alphas gain weight, they tend to get proud pot bellies. The little bit of pudge that used to push over Derek's waistband has officially turned into one of those.

Stiles gives Derek's bloated tummy a little rub and says, "I still can't believe you wore a _cummerbund_."

"And I still can't believe you're still talking about the cummerbund," Derek says tiredly. "It's a normal part of a tux, Stiles."

"Then why didn't I get one?" Stiles wonders. And then asks, hoping the answer's changed, "Are you really too fat to fuck me?"

"Jesus, Stiles. I'm not too _fat_ , I'm too _full_."

"Are you sure?"

Derek rolls his eyes. "I was this fat last night and I didn't hear you complaining."

"Actually..." Stiles pats his belly. "I was trying to be polite, but this thing was kind of getting in the way."

"You little shit." Derek shoves lightly at his shoulder, pushing him over.

Stiles cackles and flops back down onto the bed. He reaches down into his boxers to take care of himself.

"Seriously, Stiles?" Derek demands.

"Huh?"

"I'm right here. Just get on top."

"I don't think I should reward you for not sticking to your diet," Stiles tells him primly as he strokes himself. "You used to care about your Omega's pleasure. You'd eat me out and then fuck me hard—"

"Stiles," Derek growls. "Just _come here_."

The next morning, Derek takes the scale out of the bathroom cupboard and sets it up on the floor. Stiles crowds in close to see.

"I still don't know why you wasted your bet on this," Derek says.

"But you never tell me how much you weigh."

"What does it even matter? We both know I could stand to lose a lot of weight."

"Well, yeah," Stiles agrees. And then, at Derek's unimpressed look, he throws his arms in the air and protests, "Not that you _need_ to lose it. I don't mind the tum."

"Of course _you_ don't mind it."

"Wait. What's that supposed to mean? I could mind."

Derek raises his eyebrows.

"Maybe I want my fit Alpha back." Stiles crosses his arms over his chest. "I know you had abs once. I've seen the pictures."

"Stiles, you started _leaking_ the moment that this," Derek pats the big belly rounding out his t-shirt, "made me pop a button."

"I did not start _leaking_."

"It was all I could smell all day, Stiles."

" _What_?"

"Why do you think I ate so much? I had to distract myself somehow."

Stiles stares at Derek for a long moment, waiting for his expression to crack. But Derek doesn't look like he's joking.

Shit. If Derek smelled him, did everyone else at the wedding smell him, too? Alphas are more attuned to their own Omegas' scents, but still. Does Derek's entire extended family know that Stiles spent the majority of Cora's wedding imagining his Alpha's hefty weight pounding into him?

"Well, maybe weddings just turn me on." Stiles straightens up, mustering as much dignity as he can. "Now, get on the scale."

Stiles can't stop staring at the scale, even long after Derek steps off and the number fades away.

"So," he ventures. "I knew the number was going to be kind of high."

"Congratulations."

"But I didn't know it would be _that_ high."

"Excellent," Derek mutters. He bends down to put the scale back into the cupboard.

"I mean," Stiles continues thinking aloud. "Just last year, you said you wanted to get down to 200 pounds."

"And were you somehow under the impression I was successful?" He grabs Stiles's arms to guide him backwards, out of the bathroom to the bedroom.

"No. But. I mean, how far away were you _then_?" Stiles looks him up and down as best he can while being manhandled.

"If I knew you'd enjoy this so much, I would've stuck to my diet better."

"I'm not _enjoying_ it. I'm just... processing."

"Processing." Derek crowds Stiles against the wall, belly bumping against him. "You know, Stiles, someday those candy bars are going to catch up to you and you'll regret all of this."

"Regret what?" Stiles asks. "Will you dump me when I get fat?"

Derek reaches around his own middle to give Stiles's flat belly a poke. "I'm considering not waiting that long."

Stiles pinches Derek's tummy fat in retaliation.

Derek gives his neck a chastising nip.

"Hey." Stiles pinches his tummy again. Though it might be more of a grope than a pinch, what with how well his lower belly fills his hands.

Derek drags his teeth down the sensitive side of Stiles's neck. Stiles might grope his belly a little more.

"Der?"

"Hmm?"

"You weigh _282 pounds_."

Derek pulls back, meeting Stiles's eyes. "Yeah. And you've been slick since you saw that number."

Stiles bites his lip.

"I'm not too full to fuck you now, you know."

"Is that supposed to be a threat? Because—"

"Get on the bed, Stiles."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading and hope you enjoyed!


End file.
